


Our Best-Laid Plans

by chronocides



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronocides/pseuds/chronocides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Alex has a house-warming party, Nicky follows orders, and Geno has some fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Best-Laid Plans

The thing to remember about Alex is that he never really means any harm. So every time he throws a party, Geno agrees to go, and if he maybe makes a bunch of bad decisions, then they’re the most well-intentioned bad decisions he’s ever made. And normally he wouldn’t go to one of Alex’s parties right after losing to the Caps, but Alex assures him that no one will give him shit for losing. Except maybe for Alex, but that’s practically par for the course.

“Geno!” shouts Alex as he throws the door open. He has a half-full glass of vodka in one hand and the bottle in the other. Judging by the shine of his eyes, he started early. Geno lets Alex hug him and pull him from the doorway, shouting introductions as he goes. “Nice of you to show up to my housewarming party empty-handed.” Geno rolls his eyes and raises the bottle of vodka he’d brought.

“You’re a true friend,” says Alex, taking the bottle from him more dexterously than Geno expected.

“It’s a nice place,” says Geno, looking around at the foyer. 

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” says Alex. He takes Geno into the living room, and around the back. “I’ll save the kitchen for last,” says Alex. “Since that’s where you’ll probably end up anyway.”

“I’m not babysitting any more of your drunks,” Geno warns.

“I had to sit through Crosby detailing his Midget highlights at me at your holiday party,” Alex says, wrinkling his nose. “And besides, was Neuvirth not amusing?”

“He knows a lot of drinking songs,” Geno says. “But not all of their lyrics.”

“Stop whining,” says Alex. “It’s unattractive.”

“Like I care if you find me attractive,” Geno snorts. There was a reason Alex had sat through Sid’s recitation of his career as a Timbit. 

“Watch it,” says Alex. “Or I’ll never show you the bedrooms.”

He takes Geno upstairs so he can put away his bag, which he’s been carrying around the whole time. The guys had given him some shit about staying over at Ovechkin’s, but he’d given them that face that Talbot calls  _the tragic Russian_ , and Dan had clapped him on the shoulder and said that they’d see him in a couple of days. 

“It really is a nice place,” Geno says. “Roomy.” He carefully doesn’t mention Alex’s parents, and Alex doesn’t offer a reason for why he’s chosen now to buy a new house. He’d probably give a ludicrous reason anyway, like needing an extra garage for his new cars.

“It is,” says Alex. “But some of the doors have a funny tendency of getting stuck.”

“Stuck?” 

“You know,” Alex shrugs. “If you close it the wrong way, you can’t open it properly.”

“Get it fixed then,” Geno says.

“I will,” Alex says carelessly. He knocks back the contents of his glass and grins at Geno. “Ready to go back down?”

  
\----

  
“You know Mike, of course, and Brooksie,” The two men raise their glasses, acknowledging Geno’s nod. “And that’s—,” Alex rattles off a series of names Geno could never hope to remember. Alex drags Geno until he’s standing in the middle of the room, then he raises his voice. “Has anyone seen Nicky?”

The three people who are maybe listening to him shake their heads. Alex sighs.

“I’ve met Bäckström,” Geno reminds Alex. 

“I know you have,” Alex replies. “I just thought it would be nice if you got a little reminder.”

There’s something crafty in the way Alex’s smile is spreading, and Geno frowns at him warningly. “Is there something you want to share, Alexander?”

“What?” says Alex. He tightens his hold on Geno’s neck. “Oh please. Like I’d have time to play pranks on you.”

“You’re planning  _something_ ,” Geno says flatly, just as Sasha barrels through the living room door. 

“Geno!” shouts Sasha. “Long time no see.” Geno’s mouth spreads into a grin automatically at the sight of Sasha’s hideous shirt. It’s bright green and paisley-patterned. He has no idea where Sasha even found it.

Someone turns the music up then, and Geno swears he hears Sasha say to Alex, “Have you told him yet?” 

“Told me what?” Geno says, tugging on Alex’s arm. Alex shakes his head, but Geno has no idea if it’s to disregard his question or to answer Sasha’s.

“Nothing!” Sasha screams over the music. “Let’s get you a drink.”

He exchanges looks with Alex. Geno has a bad feeling about this, but he lets the two of them drag him off.

  
\----

  
“There you are,” declares Alex, slinging an arm around a light-haired boy, who’s looking at his glass doubtfully. Sasha disappeared after handing Geno a cup that smells high-octane even as Geno stares at its contents. "Geno, you remember Nicky." Geno rolls his eyes at Alex and nods.

“Hello,” says Nicky. His cheeks are red.

“Hi,” Geno replies.

Alex looks from one to the other, and opens his mouth to say something, but a crash from the other room interrupts him. Shouting erupts immediately following the crash, and Alex winces. “Stay here. Talk. Have fun,” he commands them, waving the hand holding the glass between them. Liquid sloshes over the side of the glass. Alex makes a face and heads into the living room. "Dirty him up a little bit, Geno!" he shouts over his shoulder, winking. He says it in Russian, and Geno is convinced he imagined it. Alex can’t possibly be serious. Or if he is, he’s probably quoting a movie or something.

Geno looks at Bäckström, who seems to have made a decision about the contents of his glass, raising it to his lips and draining them in a long swallow. More for lack of anything better to look at, Geno stares at the pale column of Bäckström’s throat. When Bäckström’s knocked back the last of his drink, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, shaking his head.

“Alex mix that?” Geno asks, pointing to Bäckström’s now empty cup. 

Bäckström shrugs. “I guess. He gave it to me.”

“Should be careful with what Alex give,” Geno says gravely, not really meaning to be funny, but pleased all the same when Bäckström laughs. He’s got a good laugh—the lines around his eyes crinkle and he throws his head back in reckless delight.

“You know Alex well,” says Bäckström. 

“He’s my friend,” says Geno. 

“And he’s my captain,” Bäckström mock-seriously, his wide smile giving him away. “I have to do what he says.”

“Oh?” asks Geno, reaching towards the cabinet where he knows Alex keeps his best liquor. He takes down a new bottle of vodka and opens it with a quick turn of his wrist. Bäckström tilts his cup toward him, eyes hopeful. Geno rolls his eyes and fills the cup halfway, but Bäckström doesn’t move it away.

“Half enough,” says Geno, eyeing the red in Bäckström’s cheeks. Bäckström shakes his head. 

“Alex says I should have fun tonight,” he drawls. “I’m having fun.” He shakes the glass a little and looks up at Geno from under his messy blond fringe. “Alex says I should have a lot of fun with you.”

Geno doesn’t know what to reply to that, and his throat’s gone strangely dry. What the fuck. He shrugs and fills the glass the rest of the way. He grabs a glass for himself and fills it. They tap their glasses together, and Geno raises his glass to his lips, but after he’s sipped and put his glass back down, Bäckström’s still drinking out of his.

Geno watches, a little amazed, as Bäckström finishes his drink, gulping the vodka down like it’s just water.

“Hope you not driving home,” says Geno.

Bäckström gasps as he puts his glass down, coughs a little. He grins up at Geno, bright and sharp.

“Alex said I could stay over,” he says, putting his glass down on the counter with a deliberate carefulness unique to the very drunk. “Are you going to finish that?” he asks, pointing to Geno’s glass. Geno looks at him, surprised, and drinks the rest of his drink. 

Bäckström opens his mouth, but Geno waves him off. “Enough.”

Bäckström actually pouts. “But Alex said—,”

“Enough,” says Geno. 

“So what am I supposed to do for fun now?” asks Bäckström, leaning back against the kitchen island.

Geno wishes he could pour himself another glass. He wishes he could be like Alex, blithely flitting from room to room, conversation to conversation, instead of always getting stuck in the kitchen babysitting the lightweights. 

“Could play game,” he suggests. “Or play prank.” He racks his mind for what he’s seen the Pens do when they’re at a loose end at a party. “Once Talbot streaked through Sid’s neighbor’s yard, almost arrested.”

“That’s an idea,” says Bäckström far too cheerfully for Geno’s taste. Before Geno realizes what he means, he’s already got his shirt off and the button of his pants popped open. 

“Not what I meant,” Geno says, handing Bäckström back his shirt. Bäckström bats it away and Geno must be drunker than he feels because he actually attempts to wrestle Bäckström back into his t-shirt. Bäckström’s more coordinated than other drunks though, and instead succeeds in pulling Geno’s shirt off.

“Now we can do it together,” he crows triumphantly, and Geno rubs a hand over his face, exasperated. He tries to grab his shirt from Bäckström, but the other man evades him and darts into Alex’s laundry room. The door swings closed behind him on automatic hinges. Geno finally corners Bäckström by the dryer, and grabs the shirt from him. He pulls it on and heads for the door.

Which won’t budge.

Geno gives another experimental tug. No result.

“Problem?” asks Bäckström.

“No,” says Geno. He twists the doorknob again.

“We’re locked in here, aren’t we?” says Bäckström matter-of-factly. He takes a seat on top of the washer. 

“Is fine,” says Geno. He wonders if Alex would hear him if he bangs on the door, but judging from the bass beat thumping through the floorboards, probably not.

When he turns back to Bäckström, the other man has his pants off. He’s wearing plain black boxer-briefs. Geno’s slightly inebriated (not that he’ll ever admit that to a fellow Russian), but he’s not  _blind_ . 

“Can’t streak if just me in here,” he points out. Bäckström shrugs, and Geno tries to avoid noticing the ripple of his shoulders. He’s seen better, he reminds himself. Though it’s interesting to see the flush spreading down Bäckström’s chest, how far down the red goes.

“I think someone spilled beer on my pants,” Bäckström declares seriously. He methodically starts emptying his pockets. 

“You gonna do laundry?” Geno asks incredulously.

“We’re stuck in here, right?” Bäckström points out, strangely Zen. “I might as well do something productive.”

It’s been a while, thinks Geno. It’s been a while since he got laid, and they’re stuck here, and Bäckström’s half-naked already. That’s practically a litany of reasons. Geno’s not drunk, but he’s only human.

And besides, Geno’s attendance at any of Alex’s parties has always been marked with a considerable lack of judgment. God forbid he start showing prudence in his decision-making now.

He crowds Bäckström up against the washer, his chest to Bäckström’s back. Bäckström starts in surprise, but doesn’t push him away. 

“Laundry productive,” Geno agrees. “But can think of something better to do.” He runs a confident hand over Bäckström’s abs. Bäckström gasps and turns around, winding his arms around Geno’s neck. Geno can smell alcohol on his breath, and he’s hit with a pang of guilt right before Bäckström crushes his mouth over Geno’s. In a feat of drunken athleticism, he hops onto the washer at the same time, legs going around Geno’s hips. 

Bäckström pulls back and looks confusedly at Geno’s shirt, tugging at the hem. “Didn’t I take this off already?”

“Can take off again,” Geno offers, and Bäckström grins at him, wide and silly, and does just that, running his hands over Geno’s chest, rolling one nipple experimentally between his fingers. Geno groans into Bäckström’s neck, bites lightly at the skin. Bäckström’s hips buck at that, pressing his hard-on against the front of Geno’s jeans.

“Maybe I should’ve gone for these first,” says Bäckström conversationally, tugging at Geno’s belt. His coordination is shit though, given the hold Geno has on him and his precarious position on top of the washing machine. He tugs at Geno’s belt again, succeeding only in loosening it from the belt loops, then Geno reaches down to help him along. He expects Bäckström to just push his jeans down, but Bäckström apparently has other ideas, because he pushes Geno’s underwear down as well. 

“He _llo_ ,” says Bäckström happily, looking wide-eyed down at Geno’s dick. He gives it a couple of pulls and Geno’s hips follow. “What do you want?” asks Bäckström, leaning back against the wall and rubbing himself through his briefs. He takes his hand off Geno’s dick to push down his own briefs and jack himself. He bites his lip and watches Geno watch him with hooded eyes.

“рот,” Geno says roughly.

“English,” Bäckström says, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Want your mouth,” Geno says, voice deeper than usual. Bäckström jumps off the washing machine and sinks to his knees in front of Geno, reversing their positions. Geno can feel the metal of the washer, heated from Bäckström’s skin, dig against his butt, but then Bäckström has his lips around Geno’s cock, and Geno’s just thankful for something to lean on.

He’s good at it, Geno thinks muzzily as Bäckström sucks more of his shaft into his mouth. He keeps his fingers in a ring around the base of Geno’s cock while his other hand cups Geno’s balls. He doesn’t do anything fancy, but when he’s got a good rhythm going he keeps it up, bobbing his head and pumping his hand in the same movement. Geno threads his fingers through Bäckström’s hair and gives it an experimental tug. Bäckström doesn’t pull away so Geno keeps his hands where they are. It’s not long until Geno’s tugging at Bäckström’s hair.

“Gonna come,” he warns, and Bäckström pulls back. Geno still has a hand fisted in his hair. He can hear Alex’s words:  _Dirty him up, Geno!_  Bäckström’s mouth is half-open, and he’s smiling faintly as Geno rubs his cock against Bäckström’s cheek, the corner of his mouth, leaving a smear of saliva and pre-cum on his skin. 

“Go on,” Bäckström says, voice rough and scratchy. His tongue darts out to lap at the head of Geno’s dick, and that’s it. Geno tilts Bäckström’s head back with one hand and groans as he comes on Bäckström’s pretty, pliant face. Bäckström’s grinning as he runs his fingers across the mess on his face, and Geno groans as he watches Bäckström lick the gathered cum from his fingers. Geno sinks to his knees right after, and Bäckström takes it as a cue to climb into Geno’s lap, pushing his still-hard dick against Geno’s tender one. Geno’s hips buck half-heartedly at the contact, but it’s too soon and he’s still pretty sensitive. He’s not one to leave his partner hanging though, so he gets a fist around Bäckström’s dick and jacks it. Bäckström falls against him and pants against the side of his neck. 

“This okay?” he asks, and feels Bäckström nod. 

“You can go faster,” Bäckström tells him, and Geno quickens his pace accordingly, adjusting his grip. He thumbs the head of Bäckström’s dick and turns his head to kiss him, their mouths sliding wet and hot against each other. Bäckström’s hands tighten on Geno’s shoulders, and Geno nips at Bäckström’s jaw, the jut of his collarbones. Bäckström has a hand fisted in Geno’s hair now, and he’s tilting Geno’s head back to get at his mouth. His lips collide with Geno’s, their teeth clacking together as Bäckström comes with a long, low sound. His hips buck weakly against Geno as Geno pumps him through his orgasm.

They lean against each other after, panting. Eventually though, Bäckström peels himself from Geno. 

“We should get dressed, huh,” he says, running a hand through the mess on his stomach absent-mindedly. Geno follows the movement interestedly, and watches the flush spread down Bäckström’s chest when he notices Geno watching.

“We should,” Geno says.

“So,” Bäckström says, but he doesn’t move. Geno notices that he missed a spot earlier. He reaches out and swipes at a spot over Bäckström’s eyebrow. Bäckström grabs his wrist and sucks the pads of Geno’s fingers into his warm, wet mouth. 

The music’s still going strong outside. They could be stuck here for ages.

“Don’t think they hear us knock,” Geno says.

Bäckström smiles. “I was thinking the same thing,” he drawls. He giggles when Geno covers his body with his own, pushing him down onto the floor. “I don’t think they can hear us at all.”

  
\----

  
“Of course we could hear you,” Alex tells Geno the next morning over coffee and pierogis. He rolls his eyes at Geno’s expression. “Why do you think no one unlocked the door the whole night?”

Geno groans and drops his head onto the kitchen table. The movement is a bit painful, given the position he’d woken up in that morning, curled up against the floor, naked, with Bäckström’s head pillowed on his shoulder.

“You’re too old to be doing it on floors,” Alex says primly, but his shit-eating grin gives him away. “And I put you in such a nice bedroom too.”

“I knew you were planning something,” Geno says.

“I was not,” Alex says in mock-outrage. At Geno’s pointed look, he caves. “Okay, maybe someone was planning something.”

“Sasha?”

Alex snorts. “Oh please. Sasha couldn’t plot his way out of a paper bag.”

“It’s either you or Sasha,” Geno says.

“Stop thinking of conspiracy theories and eat your pierogi,” Alex commands him. He tilts his head at Geno. 

“Come on, Geno. Who was with you when you woke up this morning?”

“Don’t pin it on Nicky,” says Geno, taking a bite of his pierogi. It’s very good actually. Maybe Alex will be able to survive longer than a month without his mother. Too bad. He bet Ilya that Alex would barely last a week. “He was drunk.” Geno colors a little as he remembers exactly  _how_  drunk.

“Nicky, huh?” Alex teases. Geno kicks him under the table and Alex kicks him back. “And Nicky doesn’t get drunk.”

“He was drunk last night,” Geno insists, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Let me guess,” Alex says. “He was red, and giggly, and suggestible.”

Geno glares at Alex. “Have fun with him, you say,” he says, sing-song. “Dirty him up a little, Geno, you say.”

“And you did,” says Alex. “Nobody’s judging you here but yourself.” He looks inordinately pleased with himself as he says it though.

“Is that coffee?” calls a voice from the doorway. It’s Nicky, freshly showered and wearing a change of clothes borrowed from Alex. The shirt’s one of those deliberately threadbare ones though, and Geno can see a bruise forming on Nicky’s neck, red against his skin.

“Let me get you a cup,” Alex says, getting up from the table. He snags one from the countertop and hands it to Nicky, who busies himself at the coffeepot. Alex waggles his eyebrows at Geno, who kicks him under the table in warning. Alex seems to take it in an entirely different way though, or is just being deliberately contrary (being Alex, who knows), because he raises his voice and says, “Good time at the party last night, Nicky?”

Nicky raises his cup to his lips before answering, looking straight at Geno, “Very nice time, captain.”

“I’m glad,” Alex says. “Good boy, Nicky.” Nicky raises his cup in a salute even as he’s rolling his eyes.

“The two of you can help clean up,” Alex says, getting up to put his dishes in the sink. 

“Mother is coming over today; she’s convinced I’m bad housekeeper.” Geno looks wordlessly around the kitchen, which is filled with debris from last night. He’d seen the living room too this morning. He think Green’s still passed out on the couch, and someone was asleep behind the plants. Geno could see a foot when he’d walked by.

Geno opens his mouth to protest, but Alex grins at him, wide and charming. “Maybe just the laundry room then. It smells funny in there,” he says conversationally, and Geno sneaks a quick glance at Nicky to check if he’s as red as Geno feels.

Redder, even.

“Sure,” Nicky blurts out, and finishes the last of his coffee. He ducks into the laundry room right after, leaving Geno to glare at Alex.

“You think you’re so funny,” he says. 

Alex hands him a Swiffer. “It’s all part of my cunning plan to have an army of hockey-playing house-cleaners.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Geno scoffs, and follows Nicky into the laundry room.

  
\----

  
Sasha pokes his head into the kitchen as he’s trying to rouse Neuvirth from his spot behind the houseplants. “Did it work then?” he asks.

“I told him, but he doesn’t believe me,” Alex says. “Tell Neuvy he can start on the downstairs bathroom after he has some coffee.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” says Sasha. He looks far too amused for just that task though, and when Alex glances around the kitchen, he realizes the laundry room door is shut. 

“I don’t believe this,” Alex says, but he’s grinning as he says it. He wonders if he can get Green wash the upstairs windows, and goes to find out.

If worst comes to worst, he can always tell his mother he lost the key to the laundry room.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for any OOC-ness. Originally written last August, for the offseasonmatch challenge. Prompt was: Evgeni Malkin/Nicklas Bäckström – “Just dirty him up a little bit, Geno!”


End file.
